Neilism: A Senior Surreal Photo by Elize Manoukian (2012)

The floor presses against me like feathers and covers more than space on skin. My iron lungs are vestigial parts drawing me in, drawing the marrow out of my bones until I'm lighter, until the wood grain becomes a blur from the corner of my eye that I will never see again. I want to cut the air into ribbons, splinters exploding from gates that have been ripped off hinges and cast to the ground like shadows. From above, the east is empty but the west is calling, through split lips and promises of a chance to see the mountains.